


A Savage Affair

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Cannibalism, Class Differences, Class Issues, F/F, Friendship, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:12:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is the royal physician at the court of King George the Third. Will Graham is a lowly valet suffering from nightmares. A series of murders brings them closer together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One moment you're making a photo set of delicious screen caps from A Royal Affair, and the next you're writing historical AU Hannibal fic. So it goes. http://beggarman8.tumblr.com/post/51529826658/hannibal-a-historical-au

_London - 1790_

Will dreams in shadows.

There’s blood on his hands, coursing down his arms. The darkness swells around him and he chokes on it, the blood surging upward to cover his skin.

Will wakes with a start, shoulders shaking with the cloying panic of the dream. He lies there on his back, soaked in sweat. Sitting up, he strips his nightshirt off and wrings the sweat from it. The night is cold without it, but it’s too clammy to sleep in now. He gets up to hang it over the chair in the corner of his room.

The room is at once too small and too large after the dream. Will goes to the window and pushes it open. The night air of London is thick and murky against the glass. He struggles to draw a clear breath.

He slides down under the windowsill, drawing deep even breaths. Sometimes he can sleep without seeing the bloody faces of strangers, but it seems those nights are now few and far between.

Will leans his head back against the sill, bringing his knees up close to his chest. He rests his bare arms on them, staring endlessly into the night.

*  *  *

_The royal court a few days later_

Hannibal washes his hands methodically. The young lord he's done examining, cousin to the king, keeps gossiping away at his companion, ignoring him. There's nothing wrong with the youth except that he drinks too much, and that would catch up with him eventually. Hannibal has better things to do with his time.

He packs his instruments carefully one by one.

"I hear Lord Simmerson isn't going to keep him on much longer though," the young lord confides. "The boy has fits."

Hannibal sets the last instrument in his case, snapping it shut, listening with slightly more interest now. Court gossip is usually dull, but every so often there is a pearl to be found amongst the dross.

"Fits?" The lord’s companion is obviously intrigued. “What kind of fits?”

"He appears as though in a trance and once or twice has been heard to babble about blood and bones, or so they say."

"Is he mad?”

“Who’s to say?” the young lord shrugs.

 _Certainly not you._ Hannibal clears his throat minutely. He’s wasted enough time on this for today.

“Ah, yes.” The young lord looks up at him. “Well?”

“You’re in perfectly acceptable spirits. There was no need for an examination.” He picks up his case.

“There!” the young lord exclaims, more to his companion than to the physician standing in front of him. “Didn’t I say it was nothing?”

Hannibal bows shortly and turns to follow the butler to the door.

He feels no compunction about lying to the young man. The gentleman, not that he’s truly one in Hannibal’s eyes, won’t change his ways regardless of what he's told, and as it is, once he’s drunk himself to death the world will have one less wastrel in it. The only unfortunate thing is that his liver will be completely ruined by the time he’s done it, unfit for anyone’s consumption.

*  *  *

Hannibal considers the gossip he heard as he walks back to his own chambers. There were always new servants at court. One couldn't be expected to remember them in a sea of unmemorable faces, but this one sounds different. If the servant was having fits of some sort, it's strange he hasn’t been brought to Hannibal’s attention before now.

The possibility of fits is interesting, but not enough to intrigue him. It’s the mention of blood and bones that stays with Hannibal. He makes a note to look into the status of Simmerson’s household.

For now, he sets the matter aside and turns back to his duties.  

Tonight he’s going hunting.

*  *  *

Perhaps Hannibal would have forgotten the matter of Lord Simmerson’s servant if not for two things that occur. The next day a body is discovered in Piccadilly. This is itself is only notable because the corpse was stripped bare and left hanging from a shop sign with its entrails protruding. Dead bodies were common place, but the manner in which the body is displayed, that is something new.

The second occurrence is the appearance of the servant in question on his doorstep.

*  *  *

_A few days later_

There’s a knock at his door.

It takes Hannibal a moment to set his book aside and go to answer it. He keeps no servants, the last housemaid has long since departed. He finds it convenient in most respects, but less so when it comes to answering the front door.

Hannibal opens it to find a young man standing on his doorstep.

“Yes?” There’s a look about the young man that brings Hannibal’s senses sharply into focus, even before he speaks.

“I’m here to collect the book.” The young man is well-spoken, though clearly a servant. He’s young, mid-to-late twenties, Hannibal estimates. His hair is just a fraction too short for society’s fashion approval, but still curves attractively around his serious face.

He steps aside and lets the young man enter, even though he has no idea what the young man is talking about. “I beg your pardon?”

“The king mentioned a book you had told him about, the encyclopedia of something or other.” The young man glances round Hannibal’s hall awkwardly. “He said I was to fetch it from you, my lord.”

“The king said this.” Hannibal finds this highly unlikely. What book can the young man mean? And then he remembers the conversation with the king. Of course, but, the king would never… He leads the way into his study, the young man following.

“No, Lord Simmerson.” The young man looks uncomfortable. “He said…” It’s obvious he means _presumed._

It’s also evident he finds making the request mortifying, which is fortunate because Hannibal finds it considerably rude. The rudeness belongs entirely to the young man’s master though for it was he who had the audacity to send him here without a genuine invitation.

“Ah, you mean, _Encyclopédie, ou Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers,_ ” he glances at the young man who shrugs.

“If you say so, that must be it.”

“Does Lord Simmerson speak French?” Hannibal inquires.

The young man snorts, and then coughs in an attempt to cover his disrespect towards his absent master. “No, my lord.”

“Then I’m afraid it will be of little use to him.” Hannibal purses his lips. “Then there’s the little matter that I don’t loan my personal library out. I’m afraid you’ll have to return to your master empty-handed.”

“Of course.” The young man nods. He hesitates, still looking around the room with curious eyes. Hannibal watches his gaze rove over the full bookshelves, the desk neat and organized, and the globe standing in the corner. On the wall above the globe hangs a painting.

As the young man studies it silently, Hannibal considers for the first time that it might have been unwise to hang that painting so openly and yet where is the danger in it? No one but him knows the meaning of it. It shows a simple repast upon a plate, a handful of grapes, a thick wedge of cheese, and in the middle, a slender cut of red meat. The colors are vivid against the stark background. The wineglass looks as though it would spill everywhere if you brushed against it.

The young man collects himself abruptly. “Thank you for your time, my lord.” He bows slightly and turns toward the door.

“In any regard, it would not have appealed to his intellect.” Hannibal murmurs.

The young man looks at him sharply, and then turns his face away. Still, Hannibal could swear he saw the laughter in his eyes.

“I’ll tell my master.” He nods at Hannibal.

Hannibal opens the door for him. “See that you do.” He pauses, but by the time he’s decided to ask the young man’s name, he’s already gone down the street.  


	2. Chapter 2

Will reaches down to grab his cap, knocking the dirt from it against his knees. He rubs at his shoulder where the butler had gripped him as he tossed Will out. No serious harm, merely a bruise and the indignity of being manhandled in that fashion. Finally, he picks his bag up from the cobblestones. Grimly ignoring the staring faces at the nearby windows, he sets off down the street.

It had only been a matter of time before Lord Simmerson eventually dismissed him. The question now is whether he can find another position before the man tells everyone at court how incompetent of a servant he is.

First though the body. The body is what matters.

He goes first to the apothecary shop where the body was hung. The shopkeeper won't speak to him. He's doing a roaring trade as people come in to hear the gory tale. Will loiters near the door, but soon realizes the man knows nothing of use. He’s merely making a profit from the murder. It makes Will queasy, even though it’s nothing to him if the man takes advantage of the situation that’s literally landed on his doorstep. He slips out.

He goes next to Beverly’s home, walking all the way to Kew Gardens, but the maid tells him she’s out.

Will thanks her, and sighs, knowing the next place he should check.

*  *  *

Lady Alana Bloom yawns widely, not bothering to hide it. She makes the gloves she’s holding for the portrait dance across the windowsill.

“Stop fidgeting.” Beverly doesn’t look up from her easel.

“How much longer are you going to be at that?” Alana inquires languidly. “We could be otherwise occupied, you know.”

“I have to do some actual painting, or your aunt will stop paying for this portrait.” Beverly adds another dab to the canvas and steps back to examine it. The portrait is coming along, but she has to admit, it's far too quickly. Her dedication is real, even though she understands Alana’s desire to drag the process out even further. The portrait is their excuse at the moment for spending time together. When it's completed they’ll simply have to come up with another.

Alana is lovely like this, Beverly thinks, standing beside the bow window, the light falling across her cheeks as she stands resolutely patient. 

Beverly sets the brush aside and goes to her. The painting can wait.

Alana turns her head and smiles at her. “At last.”

Beverly slips her arms around her, brushing her lips across the curve of Alana’s neck. “I kissed you before I even picked up the brush. How are you jealous?”

“Not jealous.” Alana cups her face affectionately. She turns to face Beverly, reaching for the ties on her bodice. “Merely greedy.”

Beverly just laughs, drawing her down on the window seat.  She brings Alana’s wrist up to her lips, but then her lover’s mouth is on her breast and she sighs, closing her eyes and surrendering.

 *  *  *

 It is some time later when the maid knocks on the sitting room. Alana pulls her skirts down, smoothing out the creases. “Yes?”

 Beverly returns to her easel. Her breasts feel pleasantly ravaged, but that’s nothing compared to the marks she left on Alana’s thighs.

“Sorry to interrupt you, my lady, but there’s a young man at the kitchen door.” She nods at Beverly. “He says he’s here to see Miss Katz.”

“Is he indeed?” Alana arches her eyebrow. “And who’s that?”

“Oh lord,” Beverly taps her brush against her cheek. “I know who it is.”

“Do you want to see him up here, or?”

“Yes, if it’s not too much trouble.” Will would only come there if it was absolutely necessary.

“Of course not.” Alana assures her. “Fetch him up.”

The maid curtsies and goes out.

Alana goes over to where Beverly is staring vaguely at her painting. “It’s Will, isn’t it?”

“He’s the only one who,” Beverly sighs. “I am sorry about this.”

“It’s no trouble.” Alana touches her cheek. “Also, you have some paint just there.” She laughs, drawing out her handkerchief. Wetting it on her tongue, she dabs at Beverly’s cheek.

There’s a nervous cough at the door, and they both look up to see Will standing there.

Alana tucks her handkerchief away and smiles at him. “I’ll have some tea sent up, and let you two have some privacy.”

Beverly just rolls her eyes and Alana goes out, smiling again at Will as she does.

He watches her down the stairs and then closes the door. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, I never meant to,”

“It’s all right.” Beverly assures him. “What’s wrong?”

He smiles at her hesitantly. "Can I leave my bag with you?"

Beverley sighs, knowing what that means. “Come sit down.”

Will sinks onto the sofa with a small sigh.

Beverly takes a seat beside him. "Do you want me to guess what the trouble is, or do you want to just tell me?”

"I spilled tea over his dressing gown." At last Will lets his weariness overtake him. He lets his head sink down between his shoulders, eying the carpet.

"That was it?" Beverly asks. Frankly, she’d expected something more. Between Will’s imagination, and his inability to often curb his tongue in the presence of their betters, she’d thought it would be something far worse.

"It very hot tea.” Will amends, glancing at her. “Right across the lap.”

Beverly chortles and after a second Will joins in. “Still, that really…”

Will shrugs. “I don’t mind except now, I need to find a new position. First though, I have to go look at that body.”

“You need a patron to allow you to indulge these investigative inclinations.”

“I’d settle for a patron who would give me a hot meal.” He hasn’t eaten since last night. Simply thinking about food makes his stomach ache.

“I can take care of that at least.”

“I didn’t mean,” He didn’t come here for that.

“I know you didn’t.” Beverly touches his arm for a moment, smiling at him, and then going to the door. The maid is already at the door with the tea tray. There’s a fresh pot of tea, bread and cheese and cold meats as well as an assortment of small cakes. Beverly takes it and sets it down on the table.

Will surveys it, his stomach lurching hungrily at the sight of it. “Does she do this for all your friends?”

“Only the ones I care about.” Beverly says matter-of-factly.

Will opens his mouth, but there’s nothing he can really say to that. Beverly is his only friend.

*  *  *

There’s a messenger at the door. The maid answers it and accepts the envelope, taking in to Alana who’s reading in the lower sitting room.

“A letter, my lady.”

“Thank you.” Alana smiles as she recognizes the elegant script. “I believe I’ll be going out to dinner tonight.”


	3. Chapter 3

“This,” Alana murmurs, “is exquisite.” She takes another bite, savoring the rich flavor of the dish. The spices mingle pleasantly on her tongue and she sighs with delight. “If you ever decide to give up medicine, the king would surely keep you on as his personal cook.”

Hannibal smiles. “I prefer to cook for people whose company I enjoy.”

Alana laughs. “That’s how you seduced me, you know. A midnight picnic.”

“Is that the story circulating now?” Hannibal pours her more wine. “I thought I saw you reading in the royal gardens and plucked a rose to lay at your feet.”

“This week the story is a midnight feast, with champagne and sweetmeats.”

“Well, I’m very glad it worked,” Hannibal responds and Alana laughs again.

“To us, my dear,” he raises his glass.

“To us.” She raises her own and they drink.

According to the court gossip, Hannibal and Lady Alana have been maintaining a passionate affair for the past three years. It suits Hannibal to have a patroness when he needs one, whereas Alana finds it useful to have the court think he’s the one sharing her bed. Over the years their arrangement has deepened into a mutually satisfying friendship.

Now Hannibal treasures the reason he’s protecting her reputation. Beverly Katz is an intelligent young artist, whose only fault according to the rigid rules of society is not being well born. He’s more than happy to encourage and support Alana’s romance with her. By now the two of them have the familiar intimacy of good friends who hold each other’s secrets. If Hannibal keeps one particular secret a little closer to his chest, it’s not entirely out of distrust, more out of the need to protect. He has no desire to hurt Alana.

 Alan licks her lips, tasting the wine fully. “So what are you after this time?” They have dinner once or week or so, but this is earlier in the week than she anticipated. Whenever Hannibal seeks information that he can’t find elsewhere without raising eyebrows, he inevitably comes to her.

“What can you tell me about a servant of Lord Simmerson who may be experiencing fits of some kind?”

Alana takes a sip of her wine. Hannibal, asking about Will Graham. Coincidence, or fate? “I know he’s no longer in Lord Simmerson’s employ for one thing.”

“Ah.” Hannibal considers this. “And the he in question is?” He thinks of the young man standing on his doorstep, the curve of his jaw, intelligence in his eyes.

“Will Graham, former valet.”

“Former.”

“He was dismissed just today in fact.” Alana’s enjoying this.

“I see.” Hannibal takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “What was the final straw in his dismissal?”

“Lord knows with Simmerson. It could have been anything. The man has the nature of a distempered louse.”

Hannibal chuckles.

Alana decides to reveal another card. “I also happen to know where he is right now as a matter of fact.” She’s curious now as to Hannibal’s interest in Will.

“Do you indeed?” Hannibal pours more wine for the both of them. “And how did you come by that information?”

“Tell me first why you’re so interested.”

“I already did.”

“That’s nothing.” Alana’s teeth catch at her lower lip as she muses at this. Hannibal categorizes this as something he would find infinitely attractive were they actual lovers. “There must be something more to interest to you.”

“I find all people interesting.”

“You find us all dull.”

“Never you.”

“Well, I am one exception. And apparently Will is another.” She can see the open question in Hannibal’s eyes, and this time she answers it. “He’s a friend to Beverly.”

“Your paramour keeps interesting society.”

“I think so.” Alana smiles.

“Will must be something exceptional indeed then.”

“He’s extremely intelligent, if that’s what you mean. The rumors aren’t true. He doesn’t have fits. Will's,” Alana hesitates, and his interest is piqued further. To gain Alana’s protection is rare indeed.

“Will’s…unique.” Alana says at last. “I’d hire him myself, but he won’t take charity.” An idea occurs to her. “You should hire him.”

“I have no need for a valet.” Hannibal finds the idea of servants pawing through his life distasteful. In the past it has not gone well.

“One servant won’t infringe on your privacy too much.”

“One servant could make all the difference.”

“Yes, he could.” Alana says pointedly.

Hannibal sighs. He doesn’t want a servant, even Will Graham. No matter how intriguing he is.

“Besides,” Alana remarks. “That’s another use for servants. All the gossip they hear. If you had one or two of your own you wouldn’t have to traipse all the way over here to learn what you wanted.”

“What if I enjoy traipsing over here?” Hannibal cuts the remaining meat on his plate down the middle and skewers it on his fork.

“I’m merely telling you something you already know.”

“And you rely on your servants for this sort of information.” Now he’s just teasing and they both know it.

“I only employ the best.” Alana tells him.

“And Will Graham could be my very best…”

 “I trust Beverly. She has impeccable taste.”

Hannibal simply nods.

"If you don't hire him,” Alana adds, “he's only going to get seized up by someone who doesn't appreciate him."

*  *  *

Will fidgets, tugging at his sleeves first, and then his collar. His new livery itches around the neck. He knows that his frustration at having his time wasted is enhancing the irritation, but he can’t help it. There’s no need for him to be here tonight, except that Lord Chilton ( _Dr._ Chilton, as he insists on being called, reminding everyone of his current flirtation with a medical vocation) insisted on that as well. Chilton is no more a doctor than Will is socially inclined. He could be doing something worthwhile with his time; instead he’s stuck standing pointlessly in a side room, watching the company mill around the ballroom simply because somebody higher born told him to do it.

The other servants speak quietly amongst themselves. None of them try to speak to them. Will’s grateful for that, but it means he’s even more conspicuous, standing off by himself.

His eyelids flutter, and he sees shadows dancing on the wall, a well of green and scarlet part to make way for a great horned beast pawing at the ground before him. Will inhales and there’s the crisp smell of damp grass in the spring in his nostrils as blood spills across the green.

*  *  *

"Go on, ask," Alana murmurs from behind her fan. She’s definitely enjoying this.

Hannibal leans over as though he were whispering something seductive in her ear. "I thought you said he was dismissed."

"He's been hired again, this time by Dr. Chilton." She sighs at Hannibal's expression. "I warned you."

"But how..." Hannibal can’t conceal his brief disappointment. _What a waste._

Alana shrugs her bare shoulders lightly. "Desperate measures."

*  *  *

Will sees the body swinging from the shop sign, but he can’t _see_ the body. They said it was still warm when it was found.

“How long would it take for you to kill someone, string them up and disappear, yet the body was still warm…”

“The body could remain warm for several hours after death.”

Will blinks. He opens his eyes to see Dr. Lecter standing there looking at him curiously.  “But leaving it there on display would serve no purpose unless you were there to see it found. That’s the purpose of displaying it. You’d kill him, and then hide yourself somewhere nearby until someone discovered the corpse,” Will trails off, looking around. He’s standing on the side balcony. He shouldn’t be there, but he doesn’t want to go back to the antechamber. Vaguely, he realizes Dr. Lecter is still standing there, still watching him.

“I said that all aloud, didn’t I?” The man must think he’s mad.

“Yes. It’s Will, isn’t it?”

 “Yes. Will, Will Graham.”

Dr. Lecter nods to himself, as if making note of it to himself. He looks over his shoulder at the ballroom. Will takes the opportunity to examine him more closely. Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a true physician unlike Chilton’s desperate attempts, is a rarity in the English court. His accent, warm and cultured, reminds Will of a piece of music. The sort that haunts you long after you’ve heard it only once.

What on earth is he doing here?

Will knows various things about Lecter that he wouldn’t have except for his friendship with Beverly. He knows that Lecter pursues the façade of an affair, creating the illusion that society around him understands and accepts while keeping his own pursuits a secret. He suspects Lecter is a man of many such secrets.

Lecter turns his attention back to Will. “I thought you were in the employ of Lord Simmerson.”

“I was dismissed, my lord.” Will lowers his gaze uncomfortably.

“That’s unfortunate. And now?”  

Will sighs, “I am now in the service of Doctor Chilton.”

“Ah.”

Will waits, but Dr. Lecter remains silent. Somehow he can tell he’s disappointed the physician, but Will can’t think how.

Dr. Lecter looks around the balcony once more, and then back to the ballroom.  “Doing...what precisely?”

“Dr. Chilton intends to review some of his medical triumphs tonight. I’m supposed to stand by with smelling salts when the ladies faint.” It’s as ridiculous a task as it is an idea. Will can’t believe he’s just spoken of that either.

Hannibal would laugh if it weren’t so obvious Will is irked by the command.

“I’m sure you’re sufficiently trained to assist the revival of young ladies.”

“I’m not nearly so sure.” Will sighs.

The musicians start up again, and Will catches sight of Dr Chilton himself looking around for him. He doesn’t want to go out there, amongst the twirling skirts and false smiles. How much more pleasant it would be to spend the evening out here in the dark of the balcony, in the presence of…

Will catches himself before he dares think it. If he thinks it, he might say it, and that’s the last thing he needs.

“He’s looking for you.” Dr. Lecter observes Chilton's distress in the ballroom. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, and Will finds some satisfaction in the knowledge that Lecter doesn’t care for the man either.

“I must go.” He bows awkwardly.

“Good evening.” Dr. Lecter nods to him.

Will looks back once as he leaves the balcony. Dr. Lecter is still standing at the railing, gazing into the garden. Will can’t think what to make of the conversation, or why the man even spoke to him, but he knows he enjoyed it.


	4. Chapter 4

 "And when you're finished with those, there's the brown pair to polish as well."

Will keeps his eyes down. It's wiser. Already he’s having a terrible time keeping himself composed when around Dr. Chilton. _At least Dr. Chilton hired him,_ Will reminds himself. He should be grateful for that.

“And make sure you polish them thoroughly.”

“Yes, my lord.” Will keeps his head down until Chilton finally goes out of the hallway and then leans his head back against the wall with a sigh.

 *  *  *

The next time Will is trapped, musing over the vagaries of the well born, is at a garden party. At least Beverly is there this time, busily painting a landscape. Her easel is set up down by the stream. Will lingers by her side gratefully. The ladies are strolling around with parasols as they drink their tea. The gentlemen are discussing horses.

Beverly dabs at her canvas. “At least try making an effort to stop looking so bored.”

 _“How?”_ Will mutters and she just laughs.

Will watches as Dr. Chilton pats his pockets, “Where is my snuffbox?” He looks around.

“Damn it,” Will says succinctly.

“Don’t tell me.” Beverly eyes him sideways. “Not here, is it?”

“It’s at home on his dresser.” Will sighs. He couldn’t remember everything.

“Will,” Chilton gestures impatiently at him and Will trots over to him. “Where is it?”

“My lord?”

“Where the devil is my snuffbox?”

“I believe it’s at home, my lord.”

“Utterly useless,” Chilton cuffs his ear impatiently. “Go wait over there till I need you.”

Will ducks his head and goes, but not before he catches sight of the royal physician glancing his way across the lawn. Embarrassed, Will keeps his eyes on the grass as he returns to Beverly's side. It's one thing to have your master mistreat you, but to have it happen in public is another thing altogether. Especially to a lord who seems...

"I saw that." Beverly flicks paint at him as Will takes his place again.

Will smothers his grin. "What do you think you saw?"

"You," she whispers, "making eyes at Dr. Lecter."

Will scoffs, far too loudly unfortunately and heads turn in their direction. Beverley hides her grin behind her easel. “Marvelous. Now my father will think I’m carrying on with a valet.”

“That wouldn’t be half as scandalous as some of the things you’ve done.” Will remarks. “Besides, I was doing no such thing."

Beverly dips her paintbrush in the blue on her palette. "He's very handsome. I don't blame you."

"I know full well your affections are otherwise engaged."

"And who can blame me?" Beverly smirks.

"Lady Alana does look very lovely today." Will glances to where Alana is standing, drinking her tea in the company of the other ladies.

He risks another look at the physician, who is of course focused on the king, sitting off to one side. All too soon his attention is drawn back to Dr. Chilton who’s standing nearby, trying to get Dr. Lecter's attention.

Will frowns.

Beverly glances at him, then at Chilton. "How long are you going to put up with it?"

"With what?" Will asks, distracted. As far as he can tell, Dr. Lecter wants nothing to do with Chilton and is politely trying to avoid conversation with him.

"With _him_." Beverly nods in Chilton's direction.

"As long as it takes." Will sighs.

"It's demeaning."

"I've been demeaned before." Will says matter-of-factly.

Beverley doesn't say anything, and he turns apologetically. "I don't mean to be abrupt. I just need to stay at court for right now, and if I have to put up with a few cuffs, then I will."

"You could find another position." She points out.

"I would. But who'd hire me now?" Unconsciously his eyes drift to the physician again.

“You could do worse than Dr. Lecter,” Beverly tells him.

“Really?” Will eyes Dr. Lecter across the grass. “What’s special about him?”

“Well, for one, he won’t strike you for dropping his gloves in the street.”

“He doesn’t do it every time.” Will protests. It had been a mistake to tell her that.

“You could always go back home. Maybe that would be preferable.”

“No.” Will doesn’t want to go back to the boatyards. There was simplicity there, yes, but there was also his father, and endless drudging labor with no time for books or anything that pertained to the mind. None of that he missed. But the smell of the sea, that was something he missed dearly. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Then you’d better focus on finding that murderer so you can leave Chilton.”

“I’m trying.” Will sighs. “I have even less time to myself than I had with Simmerson.” There’s no time for his own pursuits. It’s maddening. Why should only the rich get to do what they want?

*  *  *

Hannibal watches as Will fetches the carriage for Dr. Chilton. He looks bored to death.

“Dr. Lecter?”

He turns to find Chilton himself standing there, beaming at him now that he finally has Hannibal's attention. “I should like to invite you to my home tonight. It's merely a few close acquaintances, but I would love,"

“I’m afraid I’m busy tonight.” Hannibal says, as Will approaches.

“Tomorrow night then?” Chilton inquires.

“Tomorrow night, I am attending the king.”

“Of course, of course.”  Chilton finally sees Will waiting. “What is it?”

“The carriage is ready, my lord.” Will glances at Hannibal who nods at him civilly. Even servants deserve courtesy, something Chilton apparently doesn’t understand.  

“If you’re sure tonight is impossible,” Chilton continues.

“I’m sure.” Hannibal returns.

“Then another night, soon.”

“We shall see.”

Chilton sighs. “Of course.”

Will only looks back once as they’re walking to the carriage. Dr. Lecter is still standing there, watching him. He turns forward quickly, feeling a heated flush crawl up the back of his neck.

*  *  *

_Later that night._

The street upon which Hannibal’s butcher shop stands is only a few streets away from the apothecary shop where the body was recently discovered. It’s disconcerting, but not immediate cause for alarm. In a city the size of London, there should be plenty to distract anyone who’s looking too closely in the surrounding area.

Hannibal tucks the package he's carrying inside his coat and walks down the dark street. Pausing at the corner, he looks one up the adjoining road, and stops.

There, standing in the middle of the cobblestones, clad only in his drawers, is Will Graham.

“Will,” Hannibal moves closer, but the young man shows no sign of recognition, or even hearing him. “Will.”

His eyes are closed, Hannibal notes. He hesitates, looking around. It’s a wonder no one spotted Will before now. The underbelly of London doesn’t sleep at night.

A breeze travels through the lane and Will shivers. The rush of air presses his thin underclothes against him, and Hannibal can’t help noticing aspects of Will that he finds rather attractive. Regardless, the middle of the street after midnight is no place for that sort of thing.

He takes Will’s arm gently, leading him down the street to where Hannibal has arranged for a carriage to be waiting, careful not to touch him more than necessary. The carriage driver gives him an odd look, which Hannibal ignores. There will be a few rumors by tomorrow. It can’t be helped. He suppresses his annoyance, focusing instead on Will, who remains quiet for the entire carriage ride.

*  *  *

Hannibal helps him out of the carriage and pays the driver. He takes Will into his study and guides him over to the sofa. Abruptly Will starts, pulling away from him. Hannibal lets him go immediately, taking a step back.

Will gasps, shaking his head violently and then looking around him. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe. There is no cause for alarm.” Hannibal removes his coat, hesitating momentarily over the package, but there will be time to deal with that. For now there's Will.

“I don’t," Will stares around him, "I don't know how I got here.” He recognizes the room at least; it’s Hannibal’s study, he knows that much. But how?

“I found you wandering in the high street and thought it best to bring you back here.”  Hannibal goes over to his desk and gets out the brandy. He pours some into a glass and brings it over to Will. “Drink this.”

“Why?”

“It will help with the chill.” Hannibal says curtly.

"I don't need your help." Will growls. He hunches over even more, gripping his arms tight, digging his nails into his skin. It hurts. He’s truly here. What happened? What is happening to him now?

"Perhaps then a blanket to cover yourself?" Hannibal suggests, setting the brandy aside.

Will looks down, noticing his state of undress for the first time. “This is all I was wearing when you found me?”

“I’m afraid so.” Hannibal goes out into the corridor and fetches a blanket from a cupboard. When he returns Will is kneeling by the fire.

He offers it to Will who pulls it around his shoulders.

"I'm not mad." Will tugs the blanket closer, not wanting to look up at Hannibal.

"Of course not.” Hannibal tells him. "You merely sleepwalk."

Will stares up at him, confused.

"I can get you something for that." Hannibal leaves him by the fire and goes to his kitchen to mix a sleeping draught. There will be time to talk about this in the morning. For now Will clearly needs rest.

Will only looks up when Hannibal presses the stone mug into his hand. “Drink this, it will help."

"I need to get back, before they notice I'm gone."

"I will wake you in time for to attend your master." Hannibal tells him. "I give you my word."

Will hesitates, then accepts it. Hannibal watches him swallow. Will’s eyelids flutter, and Hannibal’s hand closes on the back of his neck. Effortlessly, he guides Will onto the sofa and lays him there, drawing the blanket up over him. In sleep Will looks peaceful for once. Hannibal hesitates, and then brushes his fingers gently through Will’s tangled hair.

“Sleep well, Will.”

Then he blows out the candle, and goes to take care of the package.


	5. Chapter 5

Will returns to wakefulness slowly. The aches in his body run from his feet to his chest, as he though walked a great distance hunched over, but at least he’s warm.

Warm is good, but _where_ is he? Will blinks uncertainly, staring around the room in confusion. He’s curled up on a sofa, a blanket covering him. The confusion fades as he realizes that at least he knows this room. Dr. Lecter’s study. That’s something to cling to, if not enough to entirely reassure him. What happened? How did he get here? The previous night blurs in his mind. Will has no answers for himself.

“You walked.” Dr. Lecter stands in the doorway, observing him. “In your sleep.”

“I walked here?” Will blinks again. Why would he walk here in his sleep? Why would he go anywhere in his sleep?

“No, I brought you here.”

Will starts to stand, then looks down at himself. “My clothes?” He’s nearly naked. He keeps the blanket over him, unwilling to meet Dr. Lecter’s eyes. Embarrassment lends a flush to his cheeks.

“Were not upon you, I’m afraid. I took the liberty of finding something for you to wear.” He sets a pair of trousers and a shirt over the arm of the sofa. “Please join me in the kitchen once you’re ready.”

He closes the door behind him.

Will reaches for the clothes, wincing as he pulls the breeches on over his feet. They’re well-made, though they don’t fit him. They don’t belong to Dr. Lecter either though, which he finds curious.

His feet complain with each step as Will walks down the hallway to the kitchen.

It’s a strange place for a gentleman to spend his time, but Dr. Lecter seems comfortable there. He stirs a pot over the fire as Will stands in the doorway.

“Sit down.” Dr. Lexter nods to the table, where there’s a plate of bread. “Eat something before you go.”

“I should go now.” Will hesitates. The ambience of the room is soothing; the smoke from the fire mixing with dried herbs to create a pleasant aroma. He doesn’t have the slightest inclination to return to Dr. Chilton, but he knows he should go.

“It’s still early. And you need to eat to keep your strength up. I’ll have you returned to your master in time. I give you my word.” Dr. Lecter gives him a cup of tea as well.

Will sits. The bread is soft and fresh. He takes a small careful bite, forcing himself to chew and swallow. The tea, strong and hot, helps. He looks around the kitchen. It’s a comfortable room, and Will examines it with interest. The scent of herbs comes from a row of them hanging in a line along the main beam. Along one wall there’s a rows of pots continuing spices that he doesn’t know.

Dr. Lecter dishes up a serving of fresh porridge from the pot over the fire. He takes a small pitcher and pours smooth cream over it before taking a spoon and setting that in front of Will.

Will accepts it without protest. The porridge is rich and warm, satisfying the hollows of hunger inside him. He takes another bite before glancing at Dr. Lecter who merely stirs his tea and gazes back at him.

 “You have questions, I believe.”

“Last night… What happened?” Will remembers going to bed, after Chilton finally dismissed him for the evening. He was tired, that much he knows. But beyond that the night is empty. Even his dreams are simply a vague haze of dangerous fancy. What if he is going mad after all? His hand shakes on the cup and he sets it aside.

“You don’t remember?” Will shakes his head, Hannibal purses his lips. “Do you recall anything at all?”

“I remember the faint remnants of a dream.” Will says helplessly. “But I dream all the time. This time,” He closes his eyes, struggling to push through the haze clouding his mind. There’s a figure there,  in the dark corridors where he can’t see. “I think I was following someone.”

“Intriguing.” Hannibal takes another sip of tea as he considers this. “Why do you think you’d follow someone?”

“Where did you find me?”

Hannibal names the street and Will’s brain clears. “That’s near the apothecary’s shop.” That’s it. It’s still foolish that he would try to go there in the middle of the night, but at least he understands the unconscious thought present.

“I take it you have some interest in the corpse that was found there recently.” Hannibal remarks. When Will doesn’t answer straight away, he moves on. “How is your head this morning?”

“It aches a little, but feels clearer now.” Will touches the back of his head tentatively. “You gave me something to drink, didn’t you?” He remembers. A hand on his hair – the lightest of touches.

“I gave you a sleeping draught to assure you got some rest last night.”

“What was in it?”

“Nothing harmful, I assure you.” Hannibal watches as Will debates asking more questions about that. He observes the weariness in the lines of Will’s face. Exhaustion is an old friend upon him.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Will focuses, and shakes his head. “Not that I remember.” He dreams and sees things, but he’s never wandered away from his bed in the night before.

He drinks his tea, savoring the warmth of the cup in his hands. “What were you doing there anyway?”

Dr. Lecter’s expression is briefly shuttered and Will drops his gaze immediately.

“Forgive me, I had no business asking that. I shouldn’t have.”

Dr. Lecter lets him fumble his way towards silence before speaking again. “I was on a personal errand when I caught sight of you standing there in the street.”

Will thinks of how that must have looked. He stares down at the table, his knuckles tightening around the cup.  

Dr. Lecter says nothing though, of the oddity of finding a servant nearly-naked in the street. Instead he pours them both more tea. Will watches his hands hold the kettle, fingers careful and exact. _He has the hands of a talented surgeon_.

Dr. Lecter sets the kettle to one side away from the fire.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Why not?”

“You could have left me there. You don’t owe any debt to Dr. Chilton.” He knows Chilton is desperate to bring Dr. Lecter into his social circle and so far Dr. Lecter has resisted. Will wouldn’t have blamed him if Lecter had left him in the street.

“Believe me, it wasn’t out of any sense of obligation to Dr. Chilton.” Dr. Lecter sounds polite as ever, but there’s the undercurrent of amusement Will sensed before.

He continues to drink his tea while Will eats his porridge.

 “I’ve hired a carriage to take you back.” Dr. Lecter says when Will lays down his spoon at last.

“There’s no need for that,” Will protests, “I can walk.” He would rather walk back to Chilton’s house on aching feet than infringe on a lord’s charity.

Dr. Lecter simply ignores his protests. “Your feet deserve better than the putrid streets of London.” He takes a wide bowl from a cupboard and fills it with water from the kettle. “If you will allow me.”

“What?” Will watches in surprise as Hannibal kneels before him with the bowl. He washes Will’s feet carefully, rinsing off the dirt. Will’s fingers clutch the table as the warm water soaks over his sore feet.

“Are you all right?”

“It…it tickles a little bit.” On top of the aching, it’s strange having another person touch him in such an impersonal yet strangely intimate manner. Dr. Lecter’s hands are gentle and Will sighs softly under his breath.

Dr. Lecter finishes and dries his feet with a linen cloth. He smooths clear unguent over Will’s cuts and then gives him woolen stockings to put on. “You should wash them again tonight. Boiled water, and then put this again over the cuts. It will help.” He hands Will the small bottle.

The glass is smooth under his fingers. Will hesitates. “I can’t pay you for this right now, but when I get my wages, I’ll pay you what I can.”

“There’s no need for that.” Hannibal assures him.

The simple truth of it overwhelms Will. He’s slept soundly in this man’s house, eaten his food. The actions of the physician aren’t merely charity. There’s a kindness here that makes Will ache.

He gazes at the floor, afraid his thoughts are bare on his face for the other man to see. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Dr. Lecter holds his hand out and Will stares at it before finally taking it. He lets go again almost immediately.

“Come.” Dr. Lecter leads him out to the waiting carriage. He speaks to the driver, and then raps on the side. Will watches him through the window until he’s out of sight.

He sighs, leaning back in the carriage. His thoughts flutter and rise, leveling at last into a calm plateau.

_What a strange, fascinating gentleman_.

Will closes his eyes, recalling what he knows about Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He’s Alana’s faux lover. She could have told him about Will. Will doesn’t consider himself vastly interesting, but between the spreading rumors of madness, and the scandal surrounding his birth he knows there’s been a fair amount of speculation around him. He suspects that scandal is partly why Chilton hired him to begin with.

Yet Dr. Lecter had made no mention of it at all. Perhaps it doesn’t matter to him. Perhaps, just once, it won’t matter at all.


End file.
